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CHAPTER FIVE

DOINK-DOINK

"You seem tense," said Elliot as he and Olivia drove to the Monceau residence. "You okay?"

"I'm fine. This is a tough case, that's all," said Olivia, looking out the window.

"Nothing to do with Schmidt waltzing in wearing a pretty blouse, jabbering in French and magically finding punctures the ME couldn't?"

Olivia gave him a hard look. "She's just precinct candy, El. She's a gimmick. She's been here for, what, five hours? It's beginner's luck."

"She's not a beginner, though, Liv. She was in Homicide before."

"She just bothers me is all."

"Because you're used to being the only woman?"

"Because she's trying to be a hero!"

Elliot twiddled the steering wheel. "Look, I know how you feel about her. She's weird. I can't figure her out either and I can't imagine what she's going to be like in a dangerous situation. But she could come in handy. Just give her a chance. Get to know her."

"I don't see you offering a ride-along," Olivia pointed out.

"Yeah, but I was nice to her. Come on, Liv, you're better than that."

"Fine. I'll be nice to her."

"I'm not saying you have to be her best friend. Just don't rip out her braid."

Elliot pulled the car over in front of a slightly run-down apartment building. A few children played with a basketball out front.

"Hey, guys. Does Elena Monceau live here?" Elliot asked them.

"Yeah. Apartment 14B," said a boy who looked to be about fifteen. "I'll get her."

"Thanks."

Elliot looked around. It was quite a rough neighborhood, a world of difference from Dozier's house. A little boy was looking at the detectives curiously. Olivia smiled at him and showed him her badge. As he smiled back, the older boy returned with a kind-faced woman with a regal air about her. She wore a long gown and her hair was hidden under an elaborate wrap.

"Elena Monceau?" asked Olivia.

"Yes, I am," she said, smiling. "Are you new social workers?"

"No, ma'am, we're detectives."

"I see. Please, come in."

Elliot and Olivia followed her down a dark hallway. Inside her small apartment, two children sat on the floor reading a book together. One child was black while the girl was Asian. A moment later, an older girl – white – joined them with her own book.

"I apologize for the mess," said Elena in her lilting accent.

"No, no problem," said Olivia. "Ma'am, we're here to ask you a few questions."

"What do you need to know?"

"Do you know a Thomas Mayhew?"

"Yes, he's my social worker. I'm a foster mother and he checks on the children."

"Do you know the Turner family?" asked Elliot.

"Oh yes, very well. Their son, Alan, was in my care when they adopted him," said Elena as she lifted a baby out of a crib. "Are they all right?"

"Do you know their daughter Jessica?" asked Olivia, keeping her voice down for the sake of the children.

"Yes, I do…what's happened to Jessica?" Elena looked scared.

"She was murdered yesterday."

"That sweet little girl? My God…that's horrible."

"We think you may be able to help us find whoever did this to her," said Elliot. "We found a card at the crime scene belonging to Thomas Mayhew. On the back was an address for a Georges Dozier."

"Oh dear," Elena sat down and cradled the tiny boy. "I paint when I have time on my hands. I had given a few paintings to a friend as a gift and Mr. Dozier wanted one for himself, so he commissioned me to paint one. I wrote his address down on an old card of Mr. Mayhew's so I could deliver it. I suppose I dropped it at the park yesterday."

"Did you have any contact with Jessica?"

"I saw her leaving with a man and her babysitter. I panicked and called the police. I told them there was a strange man who could be a criminal."

"Why did you panic?" asked Olivia.

Elena took a deep breath. "You must understand. I was acting in what I thought would be Jessica's best interest."

"What do you mean?"

"I was supposed to be picking her up."

Olivia sat down. "You were supposed to care for Jessica yesterday? She had a babysitter."

"Mrs. Turner called me a few nights ago, crying. She begged me to take Jessica for a few days so she could leave her husband. Alan was staying with a friend of his – he's old enough. He's fifteen. Jessica needed someone to take care of her. Melissa couldn't. Mr. Turner would probably go to her first thing. It was too dangerous."

"Mr. Turner's a dangerous man?" asked Elliot.

"Oh, yes," said Elena. "Mrs. Turner told me how he hurt her family. I couldn't bear to think of little Jessica going through what she did. I said I would do anything to help. But when I went to the park to meet with her, I saw a man with sunglasses and a hat taking her and Melissa away. I don't know if it was Mr. Turner, but it doesn't matter. Whoever it was took them away. I just panicked."

"I understand," said Olivia.

"I don't. How could anyone hurt such a little girl? And Alan is a wonderful young man. Mrs. Turner said her husband hit her and Alan with a phone book!" said Elena, sounding sickened. "And after what he did to Jessica…"

"What did he do to her?" asked Elliot.

"He raped that poor little thing. His own daughter!"